


Rest In Pieces (Come Apart)

by BirchBow (chaoticTenebrism)



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, Established poly, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Polyamory, of the sweetest and best sort, time for Everybody Makes Mike Feel Good: The Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 05:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticTenebrism/pseuds/BirchBow
Summary: Tiring Mike out and keeping him out of trouble when he gets jumpy is a task of legendary proportions.  Fortunately, when the Burners work together there's nothing they can't do.





	Rest In Pieces (Come Apart)

“Mike’s getting…jumpy,” says Julie.

The Burners all look down at the garage, where Mike is elbows-deep in Mutt's engine block and talking to ROTH, gesturing with oily hands full of car parts as he tunes her up for the fifth time today.  

“He does that,” says Chuck wearily.  “So?”

 _"So_ , we need to do something about it," Julie says, and glances back down at the garage as ROTH drops a part and Mike whips around, exhaust pipe raised like a weapon.  "...before he gets himself in trouble again."

"Before he gets  _us_ in trouble again," Chuck mumbles from his corner of the rec room.

"You can't do nothin'  _about_ it," says Texas dismissively.  "He's gonna go till he blows, Rachel.  That's what Mike  _does._ "

"I dunno, man, there's gotta be another way to wear him out."  Dutch frowns and watches Mike put the part down carefully, obviously making sheepish apologies and trying to coax ROTH out from behind Mutt's half-dismantled engine block.  

"You mean without something explosive and stupidly dangerous to help us out?”  Chuck doesn’t look up from his screen.  “Good luck with that.”

“Mike doesn’t get tired until after he gets PUMPED!”  Texas contributes.  “Gotta _work it_ , y’know?  

“Yeah, well it takes a _lot_ to get Mike ‘pumped’.” Chuck fans out another set of screens and sighs.  There’s a tone of almost bored fatalism in his voice, like he’s already resigning himself to a plan that’s going to shave a couple of years off his life.  “...Like I said.  Explosions.  Probably we almost die.  Somebody loses a car, couple missiles get fired off...that might-- _might_ \--settle him down.  Where are we gonna get something like that?”

There's a few seconds of disgruntled silence.  Down below, Mike's voice drifts up indistinctly, explaining something Mutt-related at high speed while metal clangs and things whirr.  

"...Maybe there's an easier way," Julie says finally, contemplative, and the boys glance over at her and then almost in unison do a series of double-takes at the smile that's starting to spread across her face.  "And...hey, if it doesn't work, we can try Chuck's idea.”

"'S not my idea," Chuck grumbles, but he's minimizing his screens, already leaning in.  "What's the plan?"

\--

They find Mike coming up from the garage, which is good because that makes it even easier to sort of gently shepherd him off into the little side room off the living room, with its soft surfaces and soundproofed walls.  Mike goes, chasing after Texas to get him back for a punch on the arm, off-balance as Chuck pulls his sleeve to get his attention, trying to listen to Dutch and Julie at the same time.  And then just like that he’s in the room with the door shut behind him.

Mike doesn’t even seem to notice something is up for a minute.  Then he looks around and sees the other Burners standing around him, waiting patiently for him to realize that they’re not talking any more.  That the atmosphere has changed.

“What’s up?” he says, and grins wide and wild.  “Guys?”

“Mike,” says Julie, calm and even.  “Give me your jacket.”

“Uh…” Mike shrugs off his jacket, no questions asked.  “Okay.”

“Lie down.”

“Huh?”  Mike looks around the circle, grinning.  “Why?”

“Because you’re driving everybody nuts,” Julie says patiently.

“You’re driving _yourself_ nuts,” Dutch contributes.

“I’m fine!”  Mike flashes them a thumbs-up, as if that’s going to magically convince them that he’s totally okay and not bouncing off the walls.

“Lie down,” Chuck says, and grabs a handful of Mike’s shirt as he starts to turn away, rolling his eyes and grinning.  “ _Mikey_.  Come on.  It’s important.”  And finally Mike sighs and does as he’s told, settling down on the ground.

He has to realize what’s going on when he lies down and they all gather around him, but either he doesn’t understand the full extent of it or he feels up for the challenge, because he doesn’t try to squirm away when they start methodically snapping the cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

“You could have just asked,” he says, apparently bemused, but there’s a kind of fire behind his eyes as Julie pulls his arms up and out and cuffs them there.  “Aren’t we tying anybody else up?”

“All about you tonight, Tiny,” says Texas.  “Texas is giving up his spotlight.”

“You didn’t hafta go to all this trouble though,” Mike says, and pulls testingly at the cuffs.  They don’t shift.  “You know getting off just gets me fired up, right?  What I need is some _action_.”

“Yeah, well, tonight is gonna be something different.”  Julie picks up a strip of cloth.  “Close your eyes, Mike.”

“Aw, what?”  Mike frowns.  “But I wanna see you.”

“I know you do.”  Julie leans down—Mike strains up to kiss her, and then sighs sadly as Julie plants a chaste kiss on his forehead instead.  “Eyes closed, cowboy.”

Mike does as he’s told.  His hands are still twitching, tightening and loosening again—as soon as the blindfold goes on, he tenses up.  Chuck notices immediately, sighs and brushes a hand over Mike’s hair, strokes gently past the curve of his skull.  Mike turns his head blindly, lips parting slightly, waiting for the next touch.

“ _Easy,_ Mikey _._ ”

“I am!  I’m going easy.”  Mike sounds eager—squirms in the cuffs, searching for more contact.  “Come on, guys…are you gonna do something or what?”

“We will.”  Julie sits back, looking down at him--Mike is shifting uneasily already, still full of twitches and jitters, waiting.  “We’re just admiring the view.”

“... _I could draw this,_ ” Dutch mumbles, more to himself than to any of the other Burners, and his eyes sweep up and down Mike’s body like he’s already planning the picture.  Mike’s head turns minutely, obviously catching the words--his cheeks go slightly pink.

“You, uh…” Chuck shrugs, a little self-consciously.  “...y’do look real nice tied up, Mikey.”

“Betcha can’t guess who’s touching you,” says Texas, and cranes around awkwardly to poke Mike’s shoulder by Julie’s knee.  “Haha!  See?”

“That was you, Tex.”

“Nuh-uh!  It was totally Julie!”

“Wow,” says Mike, obviously trying and failing for deadpan.  “...Jules, when did your hands get so big?”

“Oh, you know how hard car-customization is on your manicure.”  Julie almost manages to keep a straight face, but her mouth twitches and the words waver slightly.  “I’m just gonna have to resign myself to having big ugly man-hands for the rest of my life.”

“Hey!  Texas’s hands ain’t _ugly!_ ”

“We’re not talking about your hands, Texas,” says Mike, openly grinning now.  “We’re talkin’ about Julie’s.  She totally poked me, remember?”

“Oh.”  Texas frowns for a second, stymied.

“Bet you can’t guess who’s touching you,” Julie repeats, and Chuck meets her eyes and grins, tracing his fingertips up Mike’s side so gently Mike shivers.

“Uh…” he licks his lips.  “Ch—no.  Uh, Dutch?  No, Chuck.”

Dutch laughs and eases the hem of Mike’s T-shirt up, tracing tan skin as he goes, watching with an artist’s hungry eye for beauty as his hands bare more and more lean muscle.  Mike shifts, twisting a little as Dutch’s fingers slide his shirt up and over his head, leaving it wrapped around his wrists, baring everything from the waist up for Dutch to put his hands on.  He traces the lines of Mike’s chest and stomach like he’s trying to memorize them.

Texas wastes no time before diving in and putting his hands and mouth on everything he can reach; Julie just leans in, leisurely, and traces the tips of her fingers teasingly past Mike’s hipbones, back and forth along the waistband of his jeans.  Mike’s stomach tenses under her touch, muscles jumping and fluttering.  When Chuck leans down and starts kissing and biting gently at the tendons standing out in his neck, Mike takes a sharp breath and presses his lips together to muffle a sharp little groan.

“So, uh,” he says, a couple of seconds later, and the strain in his voice is well-hidden but still audible.  “Somebody gonna get my jeans off for me?”  he rolls his hips suggestively up into their hands—bites his lip when nobody gives him anything to grind against.  “ _Nnh._  Come on, guys.”

“Mmm…”  Dutch’s exploring fingers tweak a nipple--Mike lets out a startled little huff.  “...nah.  Not yet.”

“What?”  Mike squirms again, pulling at his cuffs--Texas bites down on the arch of his hipbone and his hips jerk sharply up into the touch.  “Dude!   Come on, getting kinda...not super comfortable here, is all I’m sayin’--”

“We know,” says Julie, and her fingers dip ever-so-slightly under the waistband of Mike’s jeans, teasing.  “...but we also know you can handle it.”

The words seem to almost flip a switch--for just a second, Mike goes still, frozen, hands clenching in his cuffs.  “Yeah,” he says, and there’s a trace of stony resolve under the word, just the slightest edge.  “I can.”  

“--but if you start hurting or anything, you gotta let us know no matter what,” Chuck adds hastily.  “No holding out.  Tell us what you need, and then we can talk about if you get it.  Okay?”

“You’re a bunch of sadists,” says Mike, without venom, and then twitches again as Texas, apparently tired of talking, licks a long stripe up the trembling muscle of Mike’s abs.  “Nnh!  O-okay.”

“So?”

“So what?”  

“So how do you feel?”

\--

Mike is pretty sure he’s slowly going insane.

“Good,” he says, and jumps as whoever’s hands are stroking his chest pinch the other nipple, giving it little twists, rolling it distractingly between two fingers as he tries to think of words.  “I-I’m good.  Feels good.  But, uh...can we go a little bit faster here?”

“We’re not here to move fast.”  Those hands are Dutch’s, must be, long-fingered and gentle and moving slow—wait, or Chuck’s?  It’s really hard to focus when they’re slowly running up and down his sides.  Somebody kisses him—Texas, maybe, he thinks, but when he bites the other person’s lip he gets a high, breathy noise—Chuck? Or Julie?  This should be so much easier, but it’s— _mmm_ it’s so hard to think…  “We’re here to push you.”

“Wear you out a little bit,” Chuck’s voice says, and it’s on the opposite side from where Mike thought he was.  His mouth presses into the sensitive hollow behind Mike’s ear, nipping and nibbling almost ticklishly at Mike’s earlobe, the shell of his ear and the soft skin behind it.  “ _…blow off some steam…”_

“Settle you down,” Texas contributes, from somewhere down around Mike’s stomach.

“That’s _nnhh--_ ” Mike’s breath catches—Chuck definitely waited until he was in the middle of the word to bite down.  Jerk.  “That’s not how I work, you know that.”

“Mmhm.”  Julie sounds amused.  Not a good sign--Julie’s kind of a tease at the best of times, and Mike is starting to get an inkling of what exactly is going on here.  The suspicion should really worry him, but right now it just makes shudders of want and adrenaline rush up his spine.  “We don’t usually make you work for it.”

“Yeah we’re pretty much gonna mess you up,” Texas says proudly, and sets about doing his best to leave a hickie on the tense muscle of Mike’s side.  

“I’m pretty _ahh_ pretty sure that’s not gonna-- _mhh_ …”  It’s like a coordinated attack, every time one of them eases off one of the others starts doing something else, throwing his thoughts off-track.

“Yeah, well it was Jenny’s idea,” Texas says.

“Chuck’s in charge of strategy and tactics,” says Julie, and she’s smiling again, Mike can hear it in her voice.  

“Dutch got Jacob out of the hideout,” says Chuck, and Mike has to laugh just because they all sound so _proud_ of themselves.  His friends are so great.

“And Texas--” Dutch starts.

“Texas is gonna kick your ass!”  Texas says, apparently too psyched to wait his turn, and slides both hands under Mike’s hips to grab handfuls of his butt.  “Ka-chaw!”

Mike tries to count seconds, at first.  It’s a good way to keep his brain occupied, to keep himself from going completely crazy—but that doesn’t last long when somebody else puts their mouth on him, and there’s two mouths and too many hands to keep track of.  Fingers stroking his belly and digging into his thighs, teeth bruising his throat and biting down on one of his nipples.  He tries to open his mouth to get somebody to at least unbutton his jeans, _jeez_ —fingers push into his mouth and stay there, rocking leisurely in and out.  It feels like a challenge (It feels like being _used,_ like _you don’t get to ask for what you want until we say so_ ) and Mike hears himself let out a long, needy groan like it’s coming from a hundred miles away.

“ _Good,_ ” Chuck murmurs to him, and Mike feels the mouth on his chest shift as its owner smiles, feels teeth graze his nipple again and thinks maybe they belong to Texas.  “ _We’re just getting started, Mikey._ ”

Just getting started, seriously?  This has taken at least five or six hours, or in other words about fifty lifetimes.  Mike groans protest, and then jumps and yelps as somebody rests a hand on his crotch and rubs slowly up and down, luxurious and unhurried.  “Mmh!   _Mmh_.”

“Settle down,” says Dutch fondly, and the hand between his legs pulls away again, leaving Mike twitching and shivering and twisting against the cuffs, looking for more contact.  He lets out a long, unhappy groan around the fingers between his teeth.  “Toldja we were gonna wear you out.  Make you work for it.  It’s only been...what, like fifteen minutes?”

Mike grumbles wordlessly again.  The fingers pull out of his mouth, and he has half a second to get a deep breath in before Chuck is kissing him, slow and deep and lazy.

“It’s—it has _definitely_ not been fifteen minutes,” he says, when Chuck pulls back to breathe.

“You’re right,” says Julie.  “More like ten.”

“Seriously?”  Dutch sounds mildly surprised, but his hands on Mike’s bare chest never falter.  “Feels like longer.”

“I started a timer,” says Julie.

“Smart.”

“ _Mm_ mmhh _hh,_ ” Mike complains into another kiss, and then gets distracted because Chuck bites down on his lip hard enough it hurts and _wow_ that feels so good.  ”–ah…”

“Settle down, Tiny,” says Texas, even though Texas’s history with patience is basically nil and he has _no_ right to talk.  Mike can’t bring himself to be indignant. Texas has got really nice, strong hands and also, not coincidentally, a really nice, solid handful of Mike’s butt.  Mike can almost imagine the half-grin, always crooked, higher on one side.  The way muscles would work in Texas’s chest and arms.

…god he really really wishes he could see.

“Guys,” says Mike pointedly, strained, and squirms a little bit.  “Jeans?  Please?  Ahh, even if you don’t actually touch me— _jerks_ , you all suck, by the way, mm—”

“Well that’s rude,” Julie says, but a pair of cool, delicate hands brush the bare skin above his waistband and a second later she’s finally got his jeans unzipped.  “There.  Don’t say I never did anything for you, Cowboy.”

"Thanks," says Mike, half-laughing, and then Chuck pulls his head back by a handful of hair, gentle but inexorable, biting and sucking and apparently doing his very best to leave bruises on Mike's neck to last him all week.   "Nnh!  Geez--buddy, wow--"

They take it easy for a long time.  Just touching him, refusing to move any faster than they want to, until he's groaning softly every few breaths, face hot and heart pounding.  It's not fast enough to hit him with an adrenaline rush, it's just...anticipation.

It's almost a surprise when one of the pairs of hands on him goes still and Dutch says "I'm going to take your jeans off," with patient care.  "How do those cuffs feel?  Good?"

They are—just tight enough he has room to struggle, room to work his wrists around in them, but tight enough he can tell he doesn't have a chance of getting out.  That tight anticipation under his ribs spikes again, sudden and breathless.

“…Mike?”

“Yessir,” says Mike, and then catches it and amends, hasty, “—yeah, they’re good.”  But he can feel the tension in the air, and he knows they’re exchanging worried looks over him.  His gut twists in an unaccustomed jolt of self-consciousness.

“…Mike,” says Chuck.  “You know where you are?”

Dammit, he shouldn’t have said that, should have watched his mouth better.  “I’m in Motorcity,” Mike says, almost brusque in his haste to get through the obligatory questions.  “I’m with you guys, I’m not in Deluxe, I don’t have to call you ‘sir’, I _know_.  I know, I just messed up, okay?”

“Hey!”  Chuck is petting his face, his hair, his shoulders, trying to get his attention—has been trying to get his attention since Mike started talking.  “Mikey, hey.  We just wanna make sure you’re having a good time here, okay?  Nothing to get upset about.  Nothing’s wrong, you’re doing good.”

He never knows that’s what he needs to hear until he hears it.  Mike slumps back a little, still breathing too hard.

“Good,” Texas repeats, and pats his chest, firm and solid.  “Doin’ good.”

“ _So_ good,” Julie murmurs, and her thumb traces the angle of his hipbone.  “We’re not stopping, don’t worry about that.”

“I’m taking the cuffs off your legs,” says Dutch.  “You’re gonna leave your legs right where  they are.  Okay?”

“Okay,” says Mike, and he knows they’re not going to get mad, none of them is going to tell him he’s doing something wrong, but it still comes out faster and louder than  he means it to, eager to please.  “Yeah, okay.”

“Good,” says Dutch, and his fingers trace the waistband of Mike’s unzipped jeans, not moving yet, just stroking the line of his hip over and over again.  “Do you want me to leave the cuffs off your ankles?”

“Ha—no, dude, I’m—”

“Mikey,” says Chuck, very quiet but very firm, and there’s not even a trace of a tremor in his voice.  That tone makes something in Mike snap to attention like no commanding officer ever has, because Chuck _demanding_ his attention is so much more important than orders, than officers, than— _anything._  “Are you telling us the truth?”

Okay.  Okay, okay.  Mike takes two or three deep breaths, and…thinks about it.  Really thinks.

“…yeah,” he says.  “...'S good.  Y’know.  It’s something to keep me…grounded.  I dunno, but I’m good.  You can put ‘em back on.”

“Yeah?”  Chuck sounds like he’s smiling, and that’s so important, the soft edge to his voice.  “Cool.  Okay.”  And he leans down, unexpected, and drops a gentle kiss on Mike’s lips, pulling away too fast before he has time to kiss back.  “…sounds good.  Good job, Mike.”

He doesn’t mean to let out the startled, broken little sound he makes at those words, but it’s—it’s good.  It’s real good.  Hearing that, from his friends who he cares about _so much,_ that they think—that he’s—

“Shhhh,” says Texas, and pats his head artlessly, a little too hard but comforting anyway.  “Chill, Mike.  I know you’re getting’ all feely and crap, but we ain’t hardly done anything yet!”

Right.  Right, okay, they were gonna…jeez, Mike doesn’t actually know, just that they apparently planned to have the hideout to themselves for most of the night, and Mike is going to be tied down for most of it, and they’re gonna…”wear him out”.  Mike has never been “worn out” after sex before in his _life,_ he usually just power-naps for like thirty minutes and then jumps up 200% more energized than he was before, but…they seem to have a plan.  And if there’s one thing Mike believes in, it’s his friends’ ability to do whatever they set their minds to.

“What,” he says, and swallows hard on the nervous flutter in his stomach, aiming for bravado and falling a couple of miles short.  “You mean we’re starting already?  I didn’t notice.”

“Oh, you wanna play it like that, smart guy?”  Julie sounds like she’s smiling too now, which is awesome because she doesn’t smile enough and…also kind of scary.  Jules doesn’t back down from a challenge, and Mike just gave her one he definitely knows she’s up to.  Julie can be _mean._ Dutch laughs that laugh that means _ohhh you're in so much trouble._  "Hold him still."

Mike is opening his mouth to point out that he doesn't need somebody to hold him anywhere--as much as hearing the words makes him bite back a groan of anticipation --when Julie digs her nails hard into the line of his thigh and his hips jerk up abruptly.  Texas snorts and a knee presses down on Mike's belly, flattening him against the floor with his solid weight.

"Hold still," Julie says, not a request, quiet and firm and focused.

"I--I, yeah," Mike says, and swallows hard.  "Sure, I can-- _nhh_!"  Nails digging into his skin again and that _hurts_ , sweet and good, and this is a new pace, more urgent.  Somebody--Dutch, has to be--has a hold on his legs, gentle enough he could pull away if he wanted to, but firm enough to remind him not to move.  He was expecting Julie to do something wicked, thought he heard that edge in her voice, but that feels so _good_.  "Yeah, wow, yeah, that's--"  Somebody’s hand is finally stroking his dick, not hard or fast enough but almost, and there’s a hand pulling his hair, tilting his head back for somebody to bite his neck and collarbones, and people are touching him everywhere, his friends, his _amazing_ friends and he’s so close, he’s _so close—_

“ _He’s gonna come,_ ” says Chuck, very quietly, and Mike actually yells out loud when the hands and mouths on his skin abruptly pull away.  He thrashes, uncomprehending and startled by the sudden, empty loneliness, tugging at the cuffs.  He’s so _close_ but not quite there, not quite, just barely…

And then it’s gone again.  Mike sinks back down, panting.

“What--was _that_ for?”  It should probably come out angry, but instead it just sounds desperate, pathetically needy.  

"That's what you get," Julie says, smug.

“Nothing wrong with taking it slow,” says Chuck, a little bit defensively, and even through the haze of desperate disappointment Mike feels a pang in his chest at the wavering uncertainty behind the words.  Chuck has never been confident, even with all the positive reinforcement the others have tried to give him--the last thing Mike wants to do is make him feel like he’s doing a bad job.

“I know dude, I know.”  A couple of deep breaths--at least nobody is touching him right now.  That would make it _really_ hard to think.  “--and--and it feels good, I just-- _jeez,_ I was so close.  Jerks.”

“I know you were,” says Chuck, a little bit wryly.  “I can tell, that’s why I’m in charge.”

“In charge of _what_?”

“In charge of telling everybody when to stop.”  Chuck kisses him again--Mike presses his mouth shut rebelliously and Chuck snorts and laughs because he knows Mike can’t stay mad at him when he laughs like that.  Jerk.  Cute jerk, but-- _god._ Jerk.

“Jerk,” he says, because Chuck should at least know that he’s mad. But that just makes Chuck snort again.

“Wow, you must have really wanted that one, huh?   _‘Jerk’_ is like...‘ _motherfucker’_ in Chilton-ese _._ ”

“Hey!”  Mike tries to reach out and sock on him on the arm, then remembers he’s tied down and settles for a blind, disappointed look instead.  “I didn’t say--y’know, _that._  You’re just a jerk and you’re using your power for evil.”

“Oo, we have _power_ now.”  Julie’s fingernails stroke up the inside of one of his thighs, so sudden and light Mike jumps.  “I like the sound of that.”

“I dunno.”  Dutch pats his chest.  “Sounds kinda hokey.   _We have you in our power, Mike Chilton!_  Like something the Duke’s crazy robot would say.”

“Man, don’t even bring the Duke into this,” Mike groans, and doesn’t mention the way the words _we have you in our power_ make an embarrassing shudder run through his core.  “Please tell me you didn’t invite that nutjob.”

Everybody laughs, but Mike should have expected the way Chuck leans down right next to his ear and whispers, “ _you wish._ ”

Okay, the fact that--yeah, okay, but that was a one-time thing and Chuck bringing it up right now is totally not fair.

“I--wh-- _you_ wish.”  His face feels way too hot all of a sudden, like he’s coming down with something.

“ _Nah._ ”  Chuck curls up over his chest, settling down comfortably, weighing him down.  “ _You’re not the one who would be tied up._ ”

God, he did not need that reminder right now.  He’s still wavering on a frustrating plateau, and the last thing he needs while everybody is intentionally avoiding touching him is to remember the way Chuck writhed in between them as the Duke whispered filthy things in his ear, sobbing and panting and--

“Whoa.”  Chuck pulls back, surprised.  “Okay, give him a second.  Oops.  Jeez, Mikey.”

“What did you _say?_ ” Texas sounds simultaneously resentful and impressed.  Chuck makes a nervous, embarrassed kind of noise instead of an answer.  “No--dude, seriously!  Texas has gotta get in on that!”

“Haha, _no_?  No, uh-uh.”

“Lame.”

“I can’t believe you two were together for _months_ and we weren’t all in on it,” says Dutch mournfully.  “Man, all the stuff we missed out on…”

Mike doesn’t weigh in on that one, but by the uncomfortable kind of half-laughing noise Chuck makes he’s thinking the same thing—this is great, having all of them together, this is…wow.  But those first couple of months were great too, in a different way.  A private, cautious, working-things-out kind of way.

“Anyway,” says Julie, and strokes her fingers up the inside of his thigh again, following the line of one taut muscle as Mike tenses all over.  “We’re all here now.  And we _do_ have you in our power, so…” she trails the very tip of one fingernail up the underside of his dick, and Mike makes a noise he’s really not proud of—a kind of _hnnnghhfff_ through clenched teeth, about an octave higher than his speaking voice, hips twitching.  “…you really wanna be a little bit more careful what you say, cowboy.”

“Oh my _god_ , Jules _,_ ” says Mike.

“Yeah, no kidding,” says Dutch—he sounds almost as shell-shocked as Mike feels. “Man, you gotta stop mouthing off.  You’re so screwed.”

“I wish,” says Mike hopefully—they all laugh, which isn’t exactly promising, but nobody says it’s off the table either.  Okay.  Well, cool.

“Well, you’re going to have to keep on wishing for a while,” says Julie, and pats his belly.  “…because we’re not gonna let you come this time either.”

Mike’s mouth drops open.  “What?!  Dude--no, come _on_ —”

“I told you we were gonna wear you out,” says Chuck.  He sounds way more smug than he has any right to be, and Mike is going to totally get him back for this, sometime when he’s not…handcuffed to the ground.  Right now, he’s only got so many options.  “This isn’t gonna work unless we really make you work for it.  So…”  and Mike can almost see the half-shrug.  “…that’s what we’re gonna do.  Sorry, bro.”

“No you’re not,” says Mike, a little accusing but mostly out of breath and strangled.

“…yeah, no,” Chuck agrees, and kisses him again.  “I’m totally not.  You ready?”

Mike snorts.  “Do I have a choice?”

“Always,” says Julie.

“You all suck,” says Mike again, and closes his eyes behind the blindfold.  “Go on, do your worst.  I’m _nnh—!_ ”

They really have got a plan, or at the very least a strategy.  He can’t see how they’re coordinating, but this time three of the people touching him are gentle, stroking his hair and kissing his neck—and one of them is always harder, digging in their nails, biting hard enough to send hot, sweet jolts of pain down Mike’s spine.  Every time he starts to settle, somebody gives some invisible signal and the nails that were digging into his hips let go and turn gentle, the lips that were brushing his jaw close hard on one earlobe and tug.

And it’s amazing, but he’s trying so hard to keep his reactions under control because he’s finally getting somewhere and his whole body is going tense but he’s not even making a sound and they can’t know, they haven’t noticed he’s so _so_ close—

“Nope,” says Chuck quietly.  “Nice try, dude.”

Everybody stops again, all at once.  Mike takes a huge gulp of air at the sudden lack of contact, lets it out and immediately has to pull in another one—he didn’t realize he almost stopped breathing for a second, trying so hard to force himself to stay still and quiet he was trembling faintly where he lay.  It fades away from him again as he gasps, easing back to a low, needy throb in the pit of his guts.

“Why’d you all stop?”  Texas sounds mad—Mike honestly agrees.  “He wasn’t even makin’ noise yet!”

“That’s not what I was lookin’ for,” says Chuck, and pinches one of Mike’s nipples gently, just to make him jump and gasp again.  “Breathe, dude.  Mikey, _slow breaths_.  You’re okay, seriously, you’re doing good.  You’re doing so good, just breathe.”

“Did you figure he wouldn’t notice, man?”  Dutch doesn’t sound mad though—just kind of fond, like Mike did something kinda dumb but he doesn’t mind.  “Give us some credit, we know you better than that.”

“But he _wasn’t_ ,” starts Texas grumpily.

“I—was,” Mike admits, not that it’s much of an admission—his voice sounds hoarse and foreign to his own ears, strained.  “I just—come on guys, _please_ —”

Julie makes a soft, humming sound in her chest—approval and satisfaction, and Mike imagines the smile on her face, like a cat playing with its prey to watch it squirm.  “Please,” he says again, just for her, and drops his head back on the cushions behind him, licking dry lips, heart still pounding.  “… _mmh…_ h-help me out here…”

“Tell me you want me to let you go,” Dutch demands.

For just the briefest skin of a second, Mike almost says it.  Because—hey, because this is nuts, okay, how is he expected to handle this?  Not being able to see them, or touch them, or— _anything_?  How is he supposed to survive that, that’s crazy.  But…

_You’re doing good.  You’re doing so good…_

Mike presses his lips together and very deliberately turns his face away.

“That’s what I thought,” says Texas, satisfied, and it’s not the gentle reassurance like Chuck and Dutch give him, or Julie’s hungry approval. Tex is a rough hand ruffling his hair, a kiss that steals the breath Mike just managed to catch.  “Nice.”

“I’m gonna kick your butt later,” says Mike.

“You can try!”  Texas chortles, and reaches down to give him a sudden, rough stroke or two that sends him gasping, startled.  “Yeah, not so mouthy now, huh?  Texas has that effect on a lotta people.”

“Does _nnh!_  Oh, ahh, d-does— _Texas_ wanna actually… _deliver_ some time tonight?”  Mike pants, and Texas makes an affronted noise, grip tightening rough and hot and _perfect._  “Yeah, come on, ‘cause it looks like you’re all talk and no—”

“Uh-uh,” says Chuck, and Texas makes another huffy noise as somebody’s hand pulls him gently away from Mike’s dick.  “Nope, no.  That’s pretty smart, but it’s not gonna work with all of us here, Mikey.”

God, it— _god,_ this is so good and also simultaneously the worst thing anybody has ever done to him.  Mike arches up, shuddering, frustrated again and panting—he didn’t make it all the way to the edge, it’s not as bad as it has been, but it still makes him _ache_ to have gotten a real touch and then had it taken away again.

“I know you’re all… _nnnh_ really proud of yourselves,” he gets out, more than a little bit ticked off.  “But you figure you can actually help me out here sometime, before I—”

He doesn’t know who smacks him on the hip, but the sting jolts him right off his train of thought.  Somebody else—Chuck, gotta be, Mike can at least find him—pinches both nipples, sudden and hard, almost simultaneous with the slap, and Mike makes a wheezy noise and chokes on air in the middle of a word, losing speech for a second in a guttural kind of groan.

They don’t let him get started again after that.  Every time he almost starts to catch his breath enough to make words, somebody kisses him, bites him, strokes his sides and his chest and his stomach, runs their fingers through his hair.  And it’s so much so fast after he just came down from the last one, and he can’t remember how to fake it.  How are you supposed to look when you can think about something other than coming, again?  Because it’s been about thirty years since last time somebody actually _oh,_ god, they’re going to stop again and he _can’t—_

“I’m really close,” Mike blurts out, before Chuck can say a word.  “I’m really— _please,_ don’t—don’t stop again—” the words come out wobbly, pleading.  “I’m goin’ crazy here, I—please don’t stop touching me again I can’t—”

“Oh shit,” says Chuck, and a cool hand touches Mike’s sweaty face, soft lips touch his in a long, comforting kiss.  The touches slow, shocked and unsure, but they don’t stop.  A plateau, not a frustrating almost-peak that never quite goes anywhere.  It’s still too much, and still not enough, and Mike writhes into their touch and makes a wordless, agonized noise.  “… _shhhh,_ dude, it’s okay.  It’s okay, don’t cry, you’re okay—”

“—‘m not crying,” says Mike, but when Chuck’s fingers brush his cheeks there’s more wetness there than there was before. The blindfold feels hot and damp.

“ _We just wanna tire you out a little,_ ” Dutch murmurs.  “We’re not here to make you feel bad, man.”

“We love you and junk,” Texas contributes fiercely, and slaps one of his thighs in a way that’s probably meant to be reassuring.

“I always forget how bad it messes you up, waiting like this.”  Chuck groans, and Mike can almost imagine him dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated.  “... _shoot_ …”

“Yeah just because you like it when he makes you cry and scream and all.”  Texas has that _come on everybody knows this_ tone to his voice, like he’s rolling his eyes.  “Everybody doesn’t work like that, Skinny, you’re gonna break his dick.”  

Mike is about to agree when Texas, apparently not sure everybody knows what part he’s talking about, grabs a hold of him and starts moving, hard and fast and almost brutal and _perfect_.  Mike wheezes out a long, startled noise and then his brain catches up with his body and he’s arching up into Texas’s rough hand, letting out a choked grunt of effort and pleasure on every exhale.  

“If making him wait a bunch is gonna make things lame,” says Texas, and squeezes so hard it edges on pain, exploding behind Mike’s blind eyes like fireworks.  “...let’s just do it the other way for a bit.  Let’s start havin’ some _real_ fun with him!  Here’s one...for... _Texas!_ ”

It’s a testament to experience and to how close Mike is to the edge by now that he times that right.  Finally-- _finally_ —he chokes out a startled, stuttering sound, jerks and thrashes in the cuffs and comes, hard.  For just a second he tries to bite his lip, breathing hard and jagged through his nose, and then the pleasure rolls out through his body in a white-hot, electric wave and through the ringing in his ears he hears himself let out a hoarse, breathy, desperate scream.

Texas waits until the scream dies to irregular gasps and moans, until Mike’s slumped back trembling and oversensitive, and then lets go.  For a second, his hands are gone completely—something clicks.  

“Texas, seriously?”  Dutch sounds like he wants to be mad but he can’t really remember how.  For a second Mike doesn’t know what he’s talking about--then something touches the outside of his thigh, drawing a single straight, thick line.  

“One for Texas,” says Texas again, smugly, and there’s the _click_ of a cap being put back on a pen.  “Who’s gonna go next?  Betcha can’t beat that time.”

“Well, since all that edging counts on your time…” Julie sounds like she’s grinning.  “Shouldn’t be too difficult.  Here.”  She grabs the pen.  "We got him close...what, three other times?"  She reaches around and draws three lines on the opposite leg.

“What?!”  Texas’s voice rises, loud and affronted. “Nuh-uh!  That’s not—no?!  No fair!”

“No take-backs!”

“Okay, so, change of plans.”  Chuck is still leaning on him, a comforting weight across Mike’s chest and shoulders—he sits up a little bit now, and his voice takes on less of that sweet, soft, breathless edge and more absent, pensive thoughtfulness.  That’s good.  Bit of a break.  Jeez, that was…. _intense._  Like, “aftershocks for the next ten minutes” intense.  Mike drops his head back against the cushions and takes deep breaths.

“Not gonna say that wasn’t fun,” says Dutch, and Texas laughs.  “—but he’s lookin’ pretty rough.  And he did great, seriously.”

“Dang right he did,” says Texas, and pats Mike’s stomach.  He’s not really anywhere near Mike’s dick, but Mike still shivers, lips parting a little bit—Texas makes a sort of soft, considering noise in return, and his fingers linger for a second on Mike’s belly before he twitches and pulls them away again.  “Doin’ good, Mike!”

“That was amazing,” Julie agrees, and it’s something else, having all this attention turned on him while he’s tied up, blindfolded, incapable of shrugging it off or hiding his face.  “You sounded so good.”

“You just,” starts Mike, and flounders, losing words as his shell-shocked brain spins in dizzy circles.  “You’re all—I just— _geez._ ”

"I know," says Chuck fondly.  "Did you really think we couldn't ruin you, bro?  We can screw the crazy out of you, if anybody can."

"Geez," says Mike again, startled and tight with shock, and catches his breath as the words send a little jolt through him.  "Dude, whoa."

"Well, if it's gonna be a competition..." Dutch laughs.  "Whose turn is it?"

“Well, Texas had a turn already,” says Julie, and her hand strokes gently down the crease of Mike's hip to wrap around his dick again, which, _god._ He didn’t realize he was still so sensitive until the very tip of Julie’s nails brushed his skin and he almost bit his tongue. “So it’s something else.  Nothing wrong with handjobs, but…we could mix it up.”

“So, but…who sucks dick best though,” says Texas.  Mike’s breath catches in his throat at the idea—that’s…a lot, that’s a lot, but the idea that they want him to take it anyway, the thought that he’s going to have to handle it and for them he _will_ …wow.  Kinda makes it sound…really good, right now.  “Pretty sure it’s Texas ‘cause Texas is great at everything.”

“Uh-huh,” says Julie dubiously.  “Well it’s _not_ you, Texas, and you already had a turn.  And it’s not me.”

There’s a moment of silence—Mike can almost imagine Dutch and Chuck looking at each other, eyebrows raised, considering the unspoken question.

“We could time it,” Dutch suggests finally.  “Let science settle that one.”

“Rank ability by time though?”  Chuck makes a dubious little noise.  “The refractory period—”

“Second person’s at a disadvantage.”  Dutch hums, thinking.  “We would have to set up two different experiments, right?  I mean, that would be the best way to—”

“Unless we figured out an extra variable to account for the difference.”  Chuck sounds completely distracted, and now nobody is paying any attention to Mike except for the slow, distracted way Julie is stroking his dick which is _absolutely_ not enough and simultaneously way, way too much.  Mike groans pointedly, frustrated, but Texas is making loud jokes about nerds to nobody in particular and now Chuck is saying “—there’s too many variables. I mean, we could just ask him wh—”

“Both!” Mike blurts out, and groans as Julie’s hand squeezes a little in shock.  “ _Ahh_ both of you are great and I’m _seriously dying_ down here, can you talk science some _other_ time?”

“Rock, paper, scissors,” says Chuck.

“Huh?”

“Rock, paper, scissors.  Whoever wins gets to blow Mike this time.”

“Hey,” says Mike.

Dutch laughs.  “Best of….eleven.”

“Guys,” says Mike.

“Better make it twenty-one,” Chuck says, and there’s a half-laugh under the words, and Mike can almost see the wicked little grin he shoots in Mike’s direction.  “Law of averages, the more rounds we play the more accurate the end result is.”

“ _Guys_ ,” says Mike.

“You’re on.”

Julie keeps stroking him gently as they play, which is almost worse than being left entirely alone—her touch is feather-light, nowhere near satisfying, and no matter how Mike squirms she keeps it that way.

“Do rock.”

“Shut up, Texas.  Rock, paper—”

“BOOM!  Meteor!”

“Texas!  Get outta the way!”

“Julie,” says Mike, and doesn’t even manage to _pretend_ to keep his voice steady.  Heck, it’s not like there’s any point pretending he’s not begging.  “Come _on_.  Just—please— _nnh_ god, please.”  He’s not sure if he’s begging her to do more or to stop—although he’s getting more sure with every passing minute.  Whether or not Dutch and Chuck are intentionally playing slow, it’s giving Mike’s body time to adjust, to recover.  The oversensitive ache in his skin is dying away, and his helpless, restless squirming is turning a lot more purposeful as Julie keeps on touching him and doesn’t answer.

“This is super boring,” Texas grumbles, and Chuck shushes him.  “What?  I wanna see Tiny get off again!”

Mike half-laughs, a little shakily, and then groans as Julie’s attention turns back to him for a second and her hand speeds up, squeezes just marginally tighter.  “ _Julie,_ ” he says, half-moaning now, and arches up into her hand.  “Mmh— _wow—_ ”

 “Easy, Cowboy,” Julie says, and pets one thigh gently until the motion soothes the jitters out of Mike’s trembling legs.  “We won’t make you wait too long.”

“—paper, scissors, _shoot!_ ”

A moment of silence and then “Oh _man_ …” Dutch huffs.  “Seriously?”

“I told you,” Texas says, “—do rock every time.  ROCK CRUSHES PAPER.  ROCK CRUSHES SCISSORS.  ROCK CRUSHES—”

“That’s not how the game works,” Dutch says, and Julie lets go of Mike’s dick, which at this point is actually a relief.  Julie is a lot of things, and she’s great and everything, but she’s pretty cruel sometimes in the best possible awful ways.  Mike gets about ten seconds of gasping reprieve, and then a warm, skinny body settles between his knees and Chuck’s hands come to rest on Mike’s thighs, easing them apart, rubbing gently past the tense tendons above his knees.  

“Hey, Mike.”

“H-hey, Chuckles,” says Mike, although his attempt at a casual tone wobbles pretty badly and cracks in the middle of a word.  “Help me out here dude, I’m _dying_.”

“You can handle it,” Dutch says, and Mike is just trying to decide whether that sounds comforting or weirdly sinister when all of a sudden everybody’s hands are back on him at the same time.

They drag it out again—not as long as last time, they only take him to the edge  and make him wait once, but it’s still enough to pull some really pathetic, whimpering noises out of him he didn’t even really know he was capable of.  Chuck somehow manages to multi-task well enough to catch Mike right on the edge again, while simultaneously doing some really awful, amazing stuff with his mouth.  Through the daze while Mike’s panting and shuddering, caught on the edge, he hears Texas’s breathing go harsh—feels a rough hand spasm against his side.  He can imagine Texas braced over him on one shaking arm, head bowed and teeth bared like getting off was a fight he was determined to win. 

Endless minutes later they start on him again, relentless, and he can’t stop himself from making an awful amount of noise and somewhere beyond his own voice he hears Julie make a soft, choked sound that makes Mike’s whole body ring like a bell.  Again, another little moan, then a third, bitten off.  Chuck moans too at whatever he’s seeing—the noise is inaudibly soft, but holy _crap_ Mike feels it, shakes and cries out from it.

But his friends are jerks, so he stays where he's put, spread-eagled and sweating and shaking, muscles aching as he tenses automatically and fights the restraints just for the way they pull tight.  And the worst part is that he can’t even really bring himself to be mad, because after they pull their hands away and make him wait, they stop to touch him.  Just touch, just to pet his hair, his face, squeeze his fingers or press down a comforting weight on his chest to ground him.  He can’t see and it makes him twitchy, but they make sure somebody is touching him all the time, they never leave him alone like that.  He can’t move and it pulls his whole body tight like a drawn wire, but they keep talking to him, soothing and steady and present.

Somebody is drawing another line on his leg.  Which means he just got off again, which explains the dizzy ringing bouncing around his skull and the way his body keeps jerking against the restraints, the almost incomprehensible shocks of pleasure going through him.  Yeah, because he’s hearing noises and they kind of sound like his voice, but all strangled and hoarse and desperate—

“Mike?”

That’s not his voice, but it is his name.  Mike lies still and takes deep breaths, trying to get his head back together.  Thoughts keep escaping when he tries to focus on them, resetting his brain to zero with every spine-searing aftershock.  He knows where he is but he can’t picture it, what it looks like, where the others are, the things he’s tied down with.  He can’t—

“ _Mikey._ ”

Fingers click next to his ear.  Mike jumps all over and snaps back to the present a little bit—Chuck.  That’s Chuck, the hand on Mike’s shoulder and the breath brushing his cheek.  His voice sounds hoarse and just a little bit ruined and it’s _amazing_ but Mike can’t manage more than a faint little shudder right now.  _Wow_.

“Mmh,” Mike says, thick and shaky.  “Wh.”

“Maybe you _are_ better at that than I am,” Dutch says.  “Jeez, is he okay?  You didn’t break him, did you?”

“I don’t think…” says Chuck absently, and then sits up a little—Mike makes an almost desperate noise as that point of contact leaves, dropping him back into chilly, confusing space.  “Guys, he’s way under.  We gotta back off.”  And then before Mike can start to fall again, Chuck’s back—touching his cheeks, petting his hair.  “Dude, you were supposed to say if it was too much.”

“…’ _M okay,_ ” Mike gets out, gravelly and wet.  His face feels damp.  Chuck makes that little sighing, groaning noise that means _no you idiot why are you doing this to yourself—_ but he keeps petting Mike’s hair so honestly who cares.  “…good.  ‘S good, I‘m good.”

“Yeah, you are,” says Julie gently, and Mike jumps when her hand settles on his chest.  But she just traces her fingers across his collarbones and past his ribs, pressing down on his chest.  Warm and heavy and alive.  “You’re so good, Mike.” And the others murmur agreement, and Mike didn’t know he was still trembling until it stopped.

They don’t untie him, but they also don’t try to work him up again for a long time after that.  At one point Dutch has a pencil out, sketching something—Texas laughs at him for already getting distracted and Dutch shoves him out of the way and puts his sketchbook down but keeps the pencil.  The point is sharp, and Dutch traces it slowly across Mike's chest in ticklish-sharp lines until he wakes up enough to squirm, chewing his lip and trying to hold still as Dutch digs the point in enough to sting just the tiniest bit.

“Any requests?”  Julie sounds amused—something’s probably funny, to her.  Dutch pulls the pencil-tip away again, to Mike’s mingled disappointment and relief, and Julie’s hand pats his chest firmly.  “Hey!  Rise and shine, cowboy.  If you've got something to say, now's the time.”

“We’re going again,” says Dutch, gentle but inexorable, and the command makes a fresh wave of heat run through Mike’s achy, tired limbs.  “Are you ready?”

“I—”  Yeah, yes, of course, whatever they want to do to him, but…  “Wait.”

Pause.  The hands touching him don’t leave, but they do go still immediately, waiting.  Mike takes a second.  Two.  Then manages, “I know…you’ve got it all figured out.”  And it still shouldn’t feel wrong to ask for things, it shouldn’t still feel like something he hasn’t earned and doesn’t deserve, but he has to take a deep breath.  “But—can you take off the blindfold?”

“Man, of course we can.”  Dutch sounds so freakin’ tender, and it’s almost unbearable.   _Of course we can,_ like it isn’t stupid to ask.  And it _is_ stupid, Mike can handle it with the blindfold on, he can take it, he doesn’t _need_ to have it off—

“ _Mike._ ”  That’s Texas, loud and close.  “Tiny, get your head where we’re at.  Not whatever you’re doin’ right now.”

“I don’t really need it off,” Mike says, almost airy but not quite, way too close to desperate as hands ease under his head to work at the knot of the blindfold.  “Don’t worry about it, y’know, that was dumb, I’ll be f—”

They all cut over him at once, and their voices overlap too much to make out every word but Mike hears enough.   _You don’t have to settle for ‘fine’_ and _what you want is important_ and _don’t give me that bull_ and _keep talking to us that was so good you’re so so good._

The lights are too bright after the darkness of the blindfold.  Mike winces as the cloth pulls away from his eyes, then slumps back and presses his skull back, through the pillow they’ve put under him, against the hard floor underneath.  Thumps his head against that solid surface once or twice, just gentle, letting the impact bring him back.

And then he finally opens his eyes.

He thought it would be better with the blindfold off, and it is but at the same time it’s really _really_ not.  Because now he can see the sheen of sweat on Texas’s bare chest, the scarlet flush that’s spread across Chuck’s freckled cheeks and down his neck.  Can see Dutch biting his lip, pupils blown out, and the pale arch of Julie’s bare back where it leads into the delicate curve of her hips.  And he can’t touch _any of it._

\--

Mike stares around at them and _moans_ like the sight of them is worse than torture.

“ _Wow,_ ” he mumbles, and licks his lips, rolling his hips up helplessly—muscle tenses in his stomach, a visible ripple of effort and strain, and then he slumps back again, panting. He's a ruined mess, cheeks blotchy red, eyes dark with arousal and wet with desperation, mouth slick and open.  “ _Guys I—_ wow.”

“Wow yourself,” says Chuck, and he sounds kind of like he’s been punched in the stomach.  “ _Fuck,_ Mikey.”

“Yeah good idea,” says Texas, and bursts out laughing.  Julie whaps him on the arm, but that doesn’t stop him.  “Come on!  He totally set that one up for me!”

“Good idea,” Mike repeats, and there’s a tone a lot like desperation in his voice.   “ _Great_ idea, really _awesome idea_ seriously guys—”  He rolls his hips up again, and the effort makes every muscle in his body tremble but he’s already half-hard again, teeth bared and eyes dark and wet like feeling so good is painful.

“Seriously, dude?”  Chuck sounds like he’s stuck somewhere in the middle of impressed, aroused and slightly concerned.  “I’m telling you, humans aren’t supposed to have stamina like this, you’re definitely a freak.  Like, some kind of really hot freak of nature.”  And then, quieter and sharper, “—you sure you’re okay to—”

“Thought you said you were gonna wear me out,” Mike says, and he obviously means it to come out more badass than it does—he slurs a little bit, and his voice is hoarse and wet and shaky.  But there’s a spark of determination in his eyes, and he sounds determined.  “What.  ‘Zat all you got?”

“Oho _ho_ , he wants to play _hardball_!”  Texas cracks his knuckles.  “You want the thunder, Tiny?!”

“Okay, well I’m getting water,” says Dutch, and leans down to press a quick kiss to Mike’s open mouth before pushing himself up and vanishing toward the kitchen.  His voice echoes back behind him.  “ _Don’t break Mike!”_

“No promises,” says Julie, and Mike’s eyes flicker to her face—his cheeks, already flushed and sweaty, blush deeper red under their natural olive-brown.  Julie sees him looking; reaches up and cups one breast briefly and then tosses her hair over her shoulders, showing off the bare curve of her waist and the unzipped, rumpled waistline of her pants.  “…something you wanna add, Mike?”

“Oh,” says Mike just a little bit shakily.  Julie never breaks eye-contact; her hand slides down between her legs and she rolls her hips luxuriously into her palm.  Mike lets out a weak little whimper in his chest and pins his lip abruptly with his teeth, hips jerking helplessly.  “ _Oh,_ oh my god, Jules, wow.”

“Yeah, ‘wow’,” Texas says, and Mike jumps as Texas reaches down and grabs his legs, pulling them wider so he can fit between them.  “Hey, Tiny.  Got any requests?”

Mike laughs a little, startled.  “Uh…” he bites his lips again—his eyes flicker to Texas, half-naked with his jumpsuit hanging off his waist and his arms and shoulders flexing as he lifts Mike’s hips off the ground.  Then to Julie, shirtless and watching him fearlessly, still touching herself.  Down to Chuck, curled up next to him, pressing kisses to his chest and throat, one arm thrown companionably over Mike’s chest.  “I…oh, geez…”

“Can’t pick, huh.”  Texas sighs.  “Yeah, Texas has gotta admit, Lucy’s boobs are pretty good.  Even Tex-Pecs can’t compete with some good—”

“Whatever you were about to call them, you better think about it twice,” Julie says.  Mike snorts—Chuck sniggers into Mike's neck, hot and ticklish and close.  Texas stares at her for a second, brows furrowed and mouth open, and then slowly closes his mouth again.  Julie smiles.  “Yeah, I figured as much.”

“Okay, so Mike can’t pick.”  Texas waves the point off.  “So okay.  I say what we gotta do is…”  he leans in to Julie’s ear and whispers something—Julie’s eyebrows rise, barely visible through the sweaty gaps in her bangs.

“…We…could do that,” she says, and she sounds really… _interested._  Mike chews on his lip some more and shifts his hips restlessly against the ground.  “I’ll grab the stuff for you.”

“Nice,” says Texas, and cracks his knuckles.  “ _Nice._ ”

Mike must have some inkling of what’s going to happen by the time Texas lubes up his fingers and Julie hunts down a package of stolen Deluxian contraceptive sheathes, but he’s _Mike_ and the sight of both of them leaning over him just makes his eyes glint and a fresh jolt of energy run through his shaking limbs.  Chuck props his head up for him, murmurs something like _I think you wanna watch this, bro_ , and watches with dark eyes as Mike squirms, looking down his own bare, shaking stomach.  

Mike is not a huge fan of prep.  He prefers to go as fast as he can, and then go for it and ride out the sting.  That's why Chuck and Julie make sure Texas works him over about three times as thoroughly as he really needs to.  Julie doesn't need to do much--certainly doesn't need to help Mike get hard again--so she just leans on his hips as Texas works, trailing her nails and the tips of her fingers over his dick until he's hissing every breath out through clenched teeth, muscles trembling in his thighs.

"...I'm not going to let you come yet," Julie says conversationally, and Mike groans.  Julie talks over him, louder and firmer. " _But_...I want you to beg me anyway."

Chuck chokes on air in the middle of a kiss as Mike jerks in place.  Texas's hands falter, his eyebrows ratchet up his forehead and his mouth drops open.

"Julie," Mike starts, hoarse and incredulous.  "Jeez, Jules, holy crap."

"Getting warmer..."  Julie tightens her grip gently--Mike huffs.

"Doesn't--" he squirms, but he doesn't have anywhere to go to get away from Texas's fingers, Julie's hand, the way Chuck's mouth presses to his throat.  "Why would--ahh, why would I...?"

"Because I like hearing it," Julie says, and squeezes the trembling muscle of one thigh, rubbing it hard with a thumb.  "...and you wanna be good, don't you, cowboy?"

Mike crumples back and sighs.  "...I'm-- _mm_ \--you're not gonna--give me anything even if I am," he says mulishly, and jerks as Texas, apparently tired of talking, changes the angle of his hand and throws a breathless, shuddering hitch into Mike's breathing.  "And--I-- _oh_ , jeez Tex, she d-doesn't _nnh!_  Need any help, okay?  Holy crap."  Texas chortles, but the relentless rhythm of his hand slows down.  Mike’s breathing steadies a little bit.

"That's true," Julie says--to which point isn't exactly clear.  "But you still want to be good, and you're going to be.  You don't want anybody to have to teach you a lesson today, right?"  

He hates how gentle her voice is, and that she's right.  There's a time and a place for fighting and growling and getting them to be rough with him, but today and right here, this isn't it.  He could take it--he could take anything, of course he could, no problem--but it would be...hard.  Even knowing they still loved him, being punished, having somebody be harsh with him, that would be hard to handle right now.

"Mike," says Chuck quietly.  "Ask nicely, bro."

Mike asks nicely.  And moans nicely, and when Texas pulls his fingers away he doesn't even really have the brainpower to blush at the desperate whimper that cracks his voice, or the way he arches his hips to the limit of his cuffs, needy.  Hears himself gasp " _please, please, no come on don't, guys please don't stop_ " and Texas huff out a hoarse breath and go "yeah little guy, big Texas has got this, don't worry about it."

Chuck drapes himself across Mike’s chest and sets about lazily biting bruises and sucking hickies across his collarbones as Julie settles slowly down onto him, eyes closed and brows furrowed like she’s focusing on every second.  Mike chokes and bucks up helplessly against her, and Julie yelps—then Texas leans in behind her, presses up against her back and plants rough, square hands on Mike’s hipbones, pushing him back down.

“You good?”  he asks, and it’s been a lot of work getting Texas to the point he remembers to ask stuff like that but it’s so worth it.  Julie nods, eyes still closed, chest heaving.  “Okay cool.”

It’s hard to see what he does, but by the way he tips Mike’s hips up to do it, pressing forward until Mike’s legs are curled around his waist, there’s only so many things it can be.  Mike slams his head back with a sharp, eager gasp, and Chuck and Julie both make comforting, soothing noises until he settles back down, breathing hard and fast through his nose.

Dutch comes back with water bottles and his eyebrows rise abruptly as he takes in the scene—Mike twitching and trembling as Chuck sucks a bruise onto his collarbone, Julie rocking in place straddling his hips and Texas pressed up against her back with Mike’s legs wrapped, shaking, around his waist.

“I was only gone like ten minutes,” he says, and strolls forward, gorgeously naked and unselfconscious, to flop his weight down on the pillows and stretch out, watching avidly.  Mike glances over, gives him a shaky, dark-eyed smile that makes Dutch bite his lip sharply.  “ _Wow,_ ” he says, and then, “…You started havin’ fun without me?”

“Chuck’s idea,” says Texas, and grunts, snapping his hips forward—Mike chokes, squirming between the slow, even way Julie rocks against him and the sharp, breathless rhythm Texas is setting.  “ _Hff._ He was like ‘screw mike!’ and Mike was like ‘yeah Texas you gotta’—“

“That’s not—what happened,” Julie contributes, between deep, shivering breaths.

“Stop bein’ a buzzkill,” says Texas, and bites her shoulder petulantly.  Julie gasps, tensing—Mike makes a strangled sound and twists weakly, eyes fluttering almost shut.  Texas snorts and then grabs Mike's hips and rocks into him again, lifting Julie's weight along with Mike's hips as he moves.  “ _Hff._ Somebody’s gotta do it, is all I’m sayin’, and Chuck’s busy and Dutch was gone and you can’t—”

“Keep telling me what I can and can’t do,” Julie says, almost dreamily, eyes closed and one hand between her legs, “…and I’ll go get my strap-on and _show_ you what I can do _._ ”

Texas starts to laugh and then stops, mouth falling open, as it registers that she’s serious.  Mike makes a choked kind of noise like he can’t decide whether to laugh or moan.

“ _If Texas isn’t up for it, I’m volunteering,_ ” he breathes.  “Holy crap, Jules _._ ”

“You’re—sweet,” Julie says, and there’s a sharp little hitch between the words like she can’t quite catch her breath.  She rests one slightly-trembling hand on Mike’s stomach, stroking his sweaty skin gently with her knuckles and the smooth flats of her nails—Mike shudders all over.  “All my stuff’s upstairs though.  Maybe some other time, Cowboy, if you ask _really_ nicely.”

“I will,” says Mike, feverish and breathless, “I’ll _ahh_ , I, you know I— _oh_ , geez, guys, _wow_ —”

“…Still can’t believe you started without me,” says Dutch, and sets down the water bottles.  “I’m gonna draw for a bit.  That cool?”

“Only if you give Texas a cool tattoo,” Texas says, distracted, and Mike groans complaint as the steady rhythm of Texas’s hips slows almost to a standstill.  “Like a tiger.  No!  A dragon!   _No._  A tiger _and_ a dragon— _riding a bear._ ”

“I’m not doin’ that,” says Dutch flatly.  “Take care of Mike before he passes out already.”

“… _’M okay,_ ” Mike pants, a little slurred—Chuck whispers in his ear and he makes a hitching, whimpering noise and jerks so hard his heels thud on Texas’s back.  “ _Nnh!_ N-no, dude, come on please—swear I am, I’m okay, I’m so— _so_ okay please…”

“…Okay,” Chuck says, more than a little bit suspiciously.  “But I’m watching you, bro.”

Texas comes first—not a surprise, and not unusual especially after a long wait.  That’s just how he works—goes fast, and hard, and repeatedly, with a kind of bullheaded, hungry persistence.  Even Mike doesn’t have him beat in terms of refractory period, and that’s saying something.  Texas, in his own words, is a Lean, Mean, Lovemaking Machine.

It also means he has the fortitude, after he’s done, to keep moving.  Mike notices—manages to make a few worried noises, eyes flickering down to Texas’s flushed face and the tight set of his brows, and then Julie arches her back and moans, high and tight in the back of her throat, and Chuck bites down hard on one nipple, and Mike says “—oh.” Like something startled him and comes again, a gut-wrenching, toe-curling slow-burn of a climax that leaves him wrung out and shaking all over.

It doesn’t take long after that.  Julie watches him through it, eyes wide and lipstick blurred where she’s been biting her lip, and then Mike shifts under her and whimpers in an aftershock and Julie jerks and shudders and lets out a single hard, shaking cry. Her back arches as she twists, both hands flying down to press between her legs—Mike yelps weakly and then melts back with a moan as she slumps forward over him, breathing with her as both of them slowly settle down.

“Okay now,” Texas says, a little less forcefully than usual, and shifts himself reluctantly to pull out and loop his arms under Julie’s thighs.  She groans in complaint when he lifts her bodily off Mike—Mike groans too, and spasms again.  “You got.   _Uhf._ Texas-ified.”

“Sure...sure d-did, big guy.”  Mike takes a choking breath, and it shudders a little bit on the exhale; Chuck immediately bends over him, petting his hair, soothing his shaking.  “ _Mm_ —oh, geez.  Holy crap, guys.”

“You need a minute, Mikey?”

And Mike hesitates, but this time he closes his eyes and nods weakly, taking shuddery breaths.  Chuck moans softly, just almost inaudible in the pit of his chest, and leans in to kiss him again.

“ _Good job,_ ” he’s murmuring as he sits up—he glances up as Dutch rummages in the cushions around them and pulls out water bottles and a package of wipes.  “We’ve got some water.  Get you something to drink, clean you up a little bit.  Okay?”

“ _Mm,_ ”  Mike mumbles, and shifts his weight a little, spreads his wobbly legs and takes a trembling little breath.  “… _w’ever…y’want…_ ”

“I just want you to feel good, bro,” Chuck says, and bumps their foreheads together.  “Keep talkin’, okay?”

“Mm,” says Mike again, and rolls his head languorously until his neck pops.  His chest is heaving.  He doesn't talk too much after that, just lies still, red-faced and sweaty, catching his breath.  His eyes are closed--when one of them touches him to clean him up his brow furrows in something almost like distress and his breath hitches in a tiny, soft-edged sound.   The other Burners immediately stop what they're doing, leaning in around him, soothing.  He relaxes again slowly, and for a while that's all that happens--the slow shift as he resettles his weight, the renewed scratching of Dutch's pencil, the sound of Chuck murmuring pointless, comforting nothings to him.  Texas gets himself cleaned up, looking infinitely satisfied with himself, and then pats Julie on the butt.  Julie raises a brow at him and then reaches out and gives Texas a much more thorough groping, maintaining eye-contact the entire time.  Mike cracks an eye and then snorts at the noise Texas makes.

It's another five minutes before he opens his eyes and keeps them that way, looking around at them all with almost unbearable fondness.  He looks from face to face--his eyes settle on Dutch, sitting back against the cushions with his clothes folded neatly next to him, sketching on a few sheets of pinned-together paper that serves as a rough sketchbook.

"...hey," he says, and blinks slowly.  "Dutch."

"Mm?"  Dutch glances up and sees the look on Mike's face; his cheeks flush a little, but his voice stays cool and even.  "What's up, man?"

"Mm."  Mike shifts his weight, pushes himself up as much as he can with the cuffs on his feet and smiles hazily.  "... _your turn._ "

“...My turn,” says Dutch, and lays his sketchbook down very carefully, far from the possibility of an accidentally torn page or smeared line.  Mike shivers as everybody moves around him, watching with bleary, hungry eyes as Dutch kneels over him and looks down at him with quiet satisfaction.  “…wow.  We’re really gettin’ to you, huh?”

"Do you want…?”  Mike twists a little, trying to angle his hips—Dutch puts a hand on his side and eases him back down.  

“Not really feelin’ that tonight,” he says gently, and props himself up between Mike’s thighs instead, leaning on one elbow.  The other hand tugs Mike’s hips square with his and then vanishes between them—Mike gasps sharply and Dutch laughs and swallows the noise in a kiss.  “…how’s that?”

“ _I love your hands, dude,_ ” Mike chokes out fervently, and then drops his head back and arches his hips up, grinding shamelessly as Dutch strokes both of them, eyes closed and lip pinned in his teeth like he’s focusing on every motion.  “Ahh _hhh_ , wow.”

“I know you do," says Dutch fondly, and bends down over him to kiss him as his hand works between them.  Once he turns his head and Chuck makes a startled, pleased little noise as Dutch steals a kiss--Mike watches them with a weird look on his sweaty face, frustrated and soft and half-pained and so loving it kind of hurts to see.  Julie groans softly, almost resigned, and settles down in the cushions more comfortably to spread her legs.  Texas shuffles over to her and pulls her into his lap and Julie rolls her eyes at whatever he mutters in her ear, but she definitely doesn't seem to mind when one big hand frames her breast and the other one slides down her bare belly.

Everybody is moving slower now, lazier.  It takes Mike longer to get off this time, and when he does he can't manage more than a weak, half-pained yell, wrung dry and trembling.  Dutch comes minutes earlier, but he stays laid out bonelessly over Mike's shaking legs and stomach, working him over lazily until Mike finally tenses and bares his teeth and comes.  

There's a long minute of silence after that--Dutch likes to cuddle, and Mike is dazed and bleary-eyed, still panting like he just sprinted the length of the Ambassador Bridge.  Eventually, Dutch pushes himself up and kisses Mike again, then nuzzles into Chuck's hair and pulls away to clean up.  Chuck makes a distant, mumbling noise and waves a hand at him, then goes back to rubbing the tense muscles of Mike's neck, wringing a few slow, breathless groans out of him.

"...Chuck," says Julie.

"Mm."

Julie and Dutch give each other a look.  Texas, chin still propped on Julie's shoulder and hands roaming freely across Julie's much smaller frame, frowns back and forth between them for a second and then follows their gaze to Chuck.  He’s  curled up next to Mike, red-faced and hips shifting slowly, like he's not even aware he's doing it.  He's watching Mike catch his breath, petting his sweaty face and his hair, and he looks half-asleep but he's breathing a little too hard, restless, eyes dark.  

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Mm?”  Chuck glances up a second late, like he’s distracted.  Mike makes a breathy, wordless noise and tries to lift his head, reaching after Chuck’s mouth--Chuck looks back down at him and kisses him again, long and slow.  “Nah.  Yeah.  He’s fine.”

“I’m not askin’ about Mike,” Dutch says patiently.  “I know we’re here for him, that’s cool, but we’ve been here a couple hours and you're the only person who's still dressed.  Don’t try to tell me you don’t need to get off, man.”

“Uh-huh _,_ ” says Chuck, obviously not listening.  Mike takes a sharp gasp of air, shaking--Chuck is immediately distracted, brushing back his sweaty hair, stroking anxiously at the flushed curve of his cheek.  “ _\--you’re okay Mikey you’re doing great--_ ”

“ _Is_ he okay?”  Julie frowns, briefly distracted from Chuck by the faint tremors running through Mike's arms and legs, the shaking way he breathes.

“Yeah.”  Chuck’s voice is quiet, but he sounds confident.  “He’s almost done.  Gotta bring him back down, is all.”  

“So it’s cuddle time?”  Texas slams a fist into the opposite palm, grinning.  “ _Got it._ ”

“Texas!”  Dutch catches his shoulder, still a little bit wobbly and boneless from coming but voice firm.  “Chill.  He’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“... _first…_ ”  Mike sounds dazed--he starts to reach out, groans softly as he reaches the limits of his cuffs and then just turns his head and strains up as far as he can to land a messy kiss on Chuck’s hand.  “-- _you should...first._ ”

“Oh--”  Chuck blinks, stares for a second like the words take a while to sink in, then shakes his head.  “No--no, dude, I don’t need--you’re beat, I’m not gonna make you--”

“ _You should get off first,_ ” Mike says again, more firmly.  “You...gotta.  I wan'to.  Lemme.”

“You’re not really in charge right now,” Chuck points out, but Mike forces his eyes open and gives him The Look.  The Mike Chilton Look, which is like... _weapons-grade_.  Chuck sighs and crumples down to kiss him.  Mike mumbles something--Chuck shakes his head again, whispers back.  Mike makes a croaky noise that might be a laugh, and then kisses him again and lies back.

“... _somebody’s gotta hold my head up for me, though,_ ” he says, still soft and almost sleepy.  “Can I…?”

“I got it.”  Dutch pulls himself up and half-crawls over, still bleary and trembly in the knees.  He sits, reaches down and helps Mike half-sit, leaning on Dutch’s legs.  Everybody shifts woozily around, making space; Mike still spread-eagled in the middle, Chuck kneeling over top of him, Dutch sitting cross-legged supporting Mike’s head.  Julie lays back in Texas's lap and watches, replacing Texas's slack hand on her chest with one of her own; Texas scowls at the missed chance to touch her boobs, but then shrugs and braces one hand on her hip instead, frowning intensely as he works a hand into her pants.

“Thanks _._ ”  Mike grins up at Dutch for a second, and then looks down at Chuck and says “--come on.  I want you to.”  And that’s all Chuck has ever needed, for some godforsaken reason, that’s what’s always been enough for him.

It’s got to be an awkward angle, but Mike’s gag reflex has always been basically nil and he’s had plenty of time to practice.  Chuck doubles over him with a shaky gasp, reaches out blind and snags a handful of Dutch’s shirt, obviously fighting not to jerk his hips forward as Mike makes a happy, tired kind of humming sound around him and swallows.  

“Yeah,” says Dutch fondly, and pats his back.  “...’I don’t need to’ my _ass,_ dude.”

“I was--fine, I, I _oh, Mike,_ Mikey, god…”  for a second he loses the thread of what he was saying, stammers and then breaks into a long, trembling moan.  It takes him a few long seconds to get his brain back together enough to keep talking.  “--it’s n-not about me, Mike was the one who--”

“Well _Mike_ wanted to blow you,” Texas says firmly.  “Stop bein’ such a Nancy about it.  You gotta do less of the worryin’ and more of the hot, stupid sex-faces.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” says Chuck, because it’s a proven fact that sex shuts off some of the higher-functioning parts of Chuck’s brain and leaves the basics like names and swear-words and variations on “ _oh please god please_ ”.  

Mike is either so focused or so tired, he doesn’t even open his eyes at the sound of the curse.  A second later he does move, just to snap his fingers once--Chuck pulls back immediately, letting him breathe, shoulders shaking.  

“...maybe you should help him out with that, Tex _,_ ” Mike suggests, and the hoarse, wrecked edge to his voice makes Chuck let out that breathless, desperate little noise again.  Mike grins at him. “You’re gonna let him do that, right bud?”

“ _You’re a jerk,_ ” Chuck says, but Mike just smiles at him and leans up just far enough to lay his sweaty cheek against the inside of one thigh and Chuck shudders all over.  “I’ll--yeah.  Sure, fine.”

“Promise?”

Sticking a dick in Mike’s mouth is an even more sure-fire way to shut him up than kissing him is.  He makes a startled noise, and then a kind of strangled half-laugh and raises his eyebrows.

“ _Fine,_ I promise,” says Chuck with overplayed reluctance, and threads his fingers through shaggy brown hair, letting his eyes fall shut, concentrating.  “...just because I like you, Mikey.  You asshole.”

“Oh yeah, I am _so_ on that,” says Texas, and kisses Julie's shoulder one last time before pushing himself up on his knees.  He shuffles over, wraps an arm around Chuck's skinny hips and pulls him inexorably upright.  “You know Texas is best at helping out with stuff like this, Tiny.”  And then he grabs hold of the hem of Chuck’s shirt and yanks it off in one smooth, practiced motion.

Mike makes another one of those strangled laughing noises, and then pulls back a little bit to do something absolutely ungodly with his tongue that momentarily blacks out Chuck’s vision.  By the time it comes back, both of his hands are buried in Mike’s hair and Texas’s hands are roaming up his body to drag past his ribs.  Texas has always been just a little bit too rough, a little bit too eager, but he also just got off and he’s practically lazy for Texas.  When he bites down on Chuck’s shoulder it’s gentle enough Chuck doesn’t even yelp.  Mike closes his eyes again, satisfied, and settles back into Dutch’s lap to get back to work.

“Did you figure everybody else was gonna get off and you get to be like _nah I suck and I don’t get nice things?”_  Texas sounds peeved more than tender, like the idea of Chuck trying to put a fast one over on everyone is annoying somehow.  “Your dumb anxiety or whatever ain’t gonna stop Texas from making you make cute sex noises, Texas is just sayin’ that _right_ now, like, out in the open.”

“You’re so— _nhh_ —embarrassing,” Chuck says, but it comes out high and breathless.  “Do you even knnnnnow— _oh, Mikey, wow—_ Texas don’t you dare.”

“I’m totally gonna,” says Texas, and pinches one nipple hard enough Chuck jolts upright and squeaks.  “I _totally_ did.  Whatchu gonna do about it, huh?  Nothin’, ‘cause you love it.  BOOM.”

What Chuck says doesn’t exactly have words in it, but it might just barely approximate _shut your fat whore mouth oh my god_ to an ear trained in the strangled whimper-language of Chuck at Terminal Embarrassment Levels.

“You love it,” Texas says again with absolute certainty, and tugs a little, almost painful but not quite.  Mike makes a sort of agreeing noise like the filthy traitor he is and then shudders a little in place and snaps his fingers.  This time it takes Chuck a solid second to pull back, shoulders heaving, scarlet to the chest.  

Mike grins up at him, and then goes “--hey.” as Chuck starts to reach up with shaking hands, dragging weakly at Texas’s hands on his chest.  “You promised, Chuckles _._ ”

“But he’s _....a-ah_ …being a _jerk—_ ”

"Chuck," says Mike, gentle and steady, and Chuck glances down at him, eyes wide through his hair.  Mike just smiles at him, and Chuck only manages to hold his eyes for a few seconds.  Then he groans and drops his hands away, twitching and shivering as Texas grins and goes back to chewing on his neck and touching every inch of skin he can get his hands on.  "Haha yeah.  Nice.  Hey Tex?"

"Mm?"

"He's gonna worry about me--"

"Yeah, he's dumb that way,"  Texas agrees blithely.

"--so don't let him pull out when we blow his mind," Mike finishes, as mild as somebody discussing lunch plans, and then leans back in as Chuck goes "--wait, what?!  Mike _ah--!"_

“Oh yeah," says Texas, and braces Chuck in place as he squirms, startled and turned on and completely flustered.  "Texas is good at that too."  He grinds a little bit--Chuck squeaks and arches his back, and on the sidelines Dutch makes a quiet, considering noise--not touching himself, not yet, but watching with interest.  Texas grinds one more time for good measure, and then settles back, apparently satisfied.  His hands settle on Chuck's hips for a second to squeeze, hard, holding him immovably in place so Mike can all but pull away and just tease.  Chuck's belly hollows, his head drops back and his voice cracks into a high, desperate whine.  "Yeah, 's right," Texas says, and it's really not fair that when he's not yelling his voice can go that low and hot and hoarse.  "... _You stay where you're at_."

“Oh my god—” Chuck starts, and then chokes on a startled yelp as Texas unceremoniously covers his mouth with one hand and pins his wrists together with the other.  Mike shivers and his hips twitch weakly, but he doesn't seem to have it in him to go again.  The muffled noise he makes still wrings a considerably louder one out of Chuck, whose restless movements are rapidly getting more desperate and less coordinated.  

"Jealous, nerd?"  Texas says, and it's a sign of progress that the word "nerd" sounds almost affectionate now and Chuck doesn't even flinch from it.  Just closes his eyes and drops his head back on Texas's shoulder, chest heaving.  "Bet you wanna be where he is right now, huh?  Texas is gonna make that happen some time for you, 'cause he's the best boyfriend."

"You don't have the attention span, Tex," says Julie lazily, and Chuck glances over at her briefly and then flushes at the sight of her lounging back on the pillows, one hand moving slowly between her thighs, eyes lazy and cheeks flushed.  "...I'd help you out, though.  Sounds like a fun day."

Mike and Chuck both moan softly in unison, two different pitches--and then laugh, startled.  Mike pulls back just enough to suck in air through his nose, and Dutch brushes his hair out of his eyes for him and wipes his sweaty cheeks.

"Bet Mike could use up some energy on you, too," Dutch points out, and Mike's hips twitch again--he makes an almost pained noise as his worn-out body protests the jolt of arousal, and Dutch pets his hair.  "He could take it out on you a little bit.  We'd help him out--you'd like that, huh?"  That's addressed to both of them, either of them--Chuck whimpers desperately through Texas's fingers, and Mike groans again, long and aching.  

"Take a look at Tiny," Texas says, "Open your eyes.   _Open 'em._ "  And when Chuck does as he's told, panting, eyes watering.  "Look at Mike.  We're gonna do that to you.  That's gonna be you.  Got it?"

" _Fuck,_ " Chuck says, and then crumples forward and clings to Dutch's shoulders with a long, shaking cry, flushed down his back and shoulders and shaking all over.  Dutch takes his weight hastily, rubbing his back as he whimpers and fights not to jerk his hips.  Mike's feet twitch but he doesn't pull back; relaxes all over, closing his eyes and swallowing with an effort.  

The nice thing about having Texas around to manhandle people is that if they’re the type to get dizzy, for example, if they come so hard they short out the computerized half of their brains--Texas is also around to catch them when they almost fall over afterwards.  Chuck is surprisingly heavy as dead weight, but Texas gets him lifted up and hauled  off of Mike’s heaving chest.  Chuck makes a few incoherent noises (to what end isn’t exactly clear, thanks or complaint) but Texas just pats his head firmly and lays him down on the ground next to Mike, propping his head up on Dutch’s knee so his sweaty cheek presses against Mike’s temple.  Dutch lays a hand on each of their heads for a second, grinning, and then sighs and twists to start undoing the cuffs on Mike’s arms.

Julie carefully works the buckles free on Mike’s ankles, and then slips the cuffs off--Mike doesn’t move, even to close his legs, but he does let out a long, low sigh and relax a little.  Julie smiles and lays herself down on Mike’s other side, pressing butterfly kisses to his heaving chest.  

“Isn’t anybody gonna blow Tex--”

“ _No_ ,” says Julie without opening her eyes.  “How’s Mike?”

Dutch leans down over Mike, but Chuck is already moving clumsily, propping himself up on one elbow and leaning over to look Mike over.  Mike opens his eyes and looks around--when he sees the others gathered around him, his expression melts into a smile so warm and soft it’s almost painful to see.

“... _you guys are nuts,_ ” he says, very soft and hoarse.  

“Yeah but how are you doing?”  Julie pats his chest gently--his skin is still flushed-warm and slick with sweat.  “We gotta go get you cleaned up.”

“I think we’re good,” says Chuck quietly, still kind of slurred and breathless.  He cups one hand against Mike’s cheek, a thumb stroking slowly past one sharp cheekbone, and there’s an unbearably tender look on his face.  Mike blinks slowly and lets his head loll to one side, smiling up at him with the same silent, unendurable fondness in his eyes.  “…feel better?”

Mike mumbles something inaudible and presses his face into the hand on his cheek, smiling that faint, tired smile.

“…love you too, buddy,” says Chuck quietly, and leans down to kiss him.  “We gotta...mmm.  Let’s get him upstairs.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz you can walk,” says Texas sarcastically, and ruffles up Chuck’s hair apparently just to prove he can.   He pushes himself upright with a grunt, reaches down and grabs Mike's arms.  Dutch gets up too, hasty--sways a little bit, getting his legs under him, and then hurries over and takes Mike's arm, helping him up onto his feet.  Mike slumps on them, knees wobbling.  "Come on, little guy.  Bedtime."

\--

Everybody sleeps well that night.  Even Julie, who should really be back upstairs already, can't bring herself to get in her car and make the long trek back to her pod.  She sleeps in the spare bedroom they keep set aside for her, and for once she sleeps like the dead, no nightmares and no restless tossing and turning.

When she gets up the next morning, sleepy and satisfied with rumpled clothes and hair everywhere, the hideout is quiet.  She wanders downstairs, yawning, and finds Mike sitting peacefully at the table, flicking through a catalogue of salvage parts and looking contented.  He closes the window when Julie comes in, and smiles at her.

"...Looks like we're onto something, huh?" she says, and looks him up and down appraisingly--Mike snorts, but his cheeks color just a little bit.

"I couldn't get that stupid marker off my legs," he says, instead of addressing the question.  "Pretty sure your count was off, geez.  It can't have been that many times."

"It definitely was," Chuck says from the doorway, and yawns enormously, bleary-eyed. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles and flipping up weirdly in the back.  Mike snags his wrist as he goes past on the way to the makeshift coffee-machine; Chuck jumps, startled, and then leans down for a kiss.  "--mm--no, dude, nah, my breath's awful.  Kiss Julie."

"I can do that," Mike acknowledges, and kisses him again.  "Mm.  But I wanna kiss you too though."

"You can do that after I've had coffee," says Chuck, and it's a sign of how well their strategy worked that Mike sighs and nods, leaning back in his seat and pulling up his catalogue again.  "Where... _mm_."  He yawns cavernously, loses track of what he was saying, and then starts again, a beat late and bleary.  "...where's Texas and Dutch?"

"Texas is still in bed," Julie says, and digs in the fridge half-heartedly, looking through Jacob's experiments for something edible and breakfast-worthy.  "Dutch is down in the garage already."

"Does he ever sleep?"  Mike laughs.  Chuck kicks him in the shins and swings himself up onto a stool.  "What?"

"You're one to talk, is all," says Chuck, and leans on him, nursing a cup of flash-brewed coffee with sleepy satisfaction.  

Things get quiet after that.  Mike goes back to browsing his catalogue, occasionally stopping to turn his head and press his face into Chuck's hair or give Julie a contented smile.  Eventually, Texas emerges from his room looking tousled but considerably more awake than the sleepy gathering at the counter.  He ruffles Mike's hair and smacks Chuck on the butt as he walks past, and then reaches into the fridge and pulls out a big tankard of muscle mulch.  

Dutch shows up last, carrying a loose sheaf of designs under one arm and looking distracted.  He does spare a second to smile fondly at Mike, who smiles back and then blinks as his eyes fall on Dutch’s sketchbook.

“...you were drawing,” he says.

“Huh?”  Dutch looks down at the papers.  “Uh…”

“You were drawing, last night!”  Mike close his screen and sits forward.  "I totally forgot, dude--come on, we gotta see now."

"It's not done yet," says Dutch.

"Aw, come _on_."  Mike looks so genuinely disappointed, Dutch lets out a surprised little laugh.  "At least show me, I'm the one who worked for it."

" _Fine,_ "  Dutch sighs, but he doesn't look upset.  His dark cheeks are just barely flushed.  "Gimme a second."

He flips through his sketchbook, past new drawings of engine parts and stencil designs for Whiptail, and then stops at a page and hesitates, self-conscious.

"It's not done," he says again.  "I'm just sayin'."

It's beautiful.

The Burners all gather around the paper, staring; Julie’s back arches, caught in a smooth pencil-stroke.  A few loose strokes suggest the delicate curve of her breasts and her throat as she twists to kiss Texas over her shoulder.  The solid shape of Texas supporting her and Mike both, the suggestion of a dark eye under one furrowed brow and the lovingly-rendered cut of his waist and tense thigh muscles.  Mike held half off the ground, arched up off the floor with his head thrown back, hair sticking to his forehead, expression beatific.  Chuck laid out next to him, one arm thrown over his chest; the quiet angles of his face half-hidden by his hair, lips just slightly parted against Mike’s throat, caught in the middle of a kiss or a whisper or a soft breath.

For a long, long second they all just stare at it, wondering.  Dutch fidgets just a little bit, apparently interpreting their blank expressions of amazement as confusion.  “…so…"

"It's-- _wow,_ " says Mike, and looks up at him smiling that beautiful, stupid smile that abruptly makes the whole room a little bit weak at the knees.  "Wow, buddy."

He puts the picture down very carefully on the counter, reaches out and hooks Dutch by the beltloops, pulling him in to kiss him thoroughly.  By the time they pull apart, everybody is looking much more awake and Dutch is looking considerably more flustered.  Mike grins at him, and then pushes himself up and stretches luxuriously.  

"Let's go for a drive," he says.  

"What?"  Chuck knocks back the last of his coffee and gets up as well.  "Where?"

"Around," says Mike easily, and smiles a quiet smile.  "Just to drive."

They make it through fifteen minutes of cruising around town before the storm Mike spent the last week and a half anticipating breaks.  Bots come spiralling down on the city, with new, hair-thin lasers that slice through concrete like butter, and Mike whoops and throws himself into it like he always does.

Things stay intensely busy for a week after that.  Non-stop running, driving, fighting, shooting.  Mike thrives on it, glowing with adrenaline, soaking up the rush.  Other Burners...not so much.

“--fault in _my code,”_ Chuck is saying, at the end of the week, as the Burners troop back into the hideout together, singed and bruised but intact.  Mike is grinning--Chuck is pacing, taking too-fast, anxious steps on long legs that take him out in front of the group and then turning back again.  “I made something and it crapped out in the middle of a fight and that’s on _me,_ dude!  Don’t try to tell me it’s not!  God--”

“Chuck,” Mike says patiently.  “Dude.”

“--just had time to _work_ maybe I’d stop making stupid errors like an _idiot_ but Kane won’t stop sending--”

“Those were the last of them,” Julie contributes, looking slightly startled by the force of Chuck’s self-hatred.  “We should get a dry spell for a little while.”

“Oh good!”  Chuck says, and waves his hands in the air in a mockery of celebration as his voice cracks hysterically.  “Y’know, we’re just gonna sit here and--”

“Chuckles,” says Mike mildly.  “I think you need to head back to the back room and calm down a little bit.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, for a second nobody registers it.  Then Julie’s brows ratchet up under her bangs, Texas grins, Dutch sputters and Chuck goes scarlet.

“But,” he starts, completely stymied, and mouths silently for a second.  “Oh.  But.  Oh my--wh--Mikey?”

“Y’know, he has a point,” says Julie, and Chuck looks at her instead, gaping.  “You’re getting...jumpy.”

“You do that,” Dutch says, half-laughing.  “So.  We gotta wear you out somehow.”

“Oh,” says Chuck again, much quieter, and shivers as Mike steps forward into his space.  “... _okay._ ”

Mike smiles, dangerous and brilliant and running hot on adrenaline, and pulls him in.


End file.
